Prime Defender

Prime Defender Ann Jacobs Book 4 in the Necessary Roughness series.

Big, tough, sexy linebacker Matt Rubin is a killer on the field—but a willing slave in the dungeon to his voluptuous, beautiful Domme. Keisha loves her buff, gorgeous sex slave. It is the ultimate erotic gratification— having such a strong, intimidating man completely at her sexual command. Then a health crisis forces them to make a temporary switch. The sex slave becomes the Master. Keisha is totally out of her element and they both wonder how they can ever really go back to that perfect love.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Prime Defender ISBN 9781419929908 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Prime Defender Copyright © 2011 Ann Jacobs Edited by Pamela Campbell Cover design and photography by Syneca Model: Keanu Electronic book publication September 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

PRIME DEFENDER Ann Jacobs

Prime Defender

Prologue Rebels’ Roost Five years ago She looked like an Amazon goddess, standing in the dungeon wearing a skintight white rubber bodysuit and a scarlet corset that cinched her waist almost enough for him to encircle it in his hands. Standing at least six foot three in her platform stilettos, she was a picture of sexual power—the ultimate Domme. He adored her, worshiped her voluptuous body and the exotic face that perfectly reflected her mixed African-American and Asian heritage. He respected her keen, analytical intelligence that matched his own. He wanted the full-time, 24/7 dominance that would give him the freedom to love her without fearing that he might hurt his woman the way his father had abused his mother into an early grave. The dominance he’d been missing since his family had fallen apart. In a few minutes he would give his goddess his unquestioning obedience. In return she would control his every action, his every thought. She would be his Mistress, now and forever in charge of his sexuality, in control of the ego he soon would cede to her. The ultimate alpha football player in his public life, he feared the total sexual submission he was about to embrace, yet he craved it with every fiber of his being. A shudder went through his body as he anticipated handing over the burden of selfdirection and control he’d carried for fifteen years now, since he was twelve years old and his beautiful, nurturing mother had died at the hand of his abusive father. He peered out into the dungeon where a chair and a small table had been placed among the restraints and torture devices that gave them both such pleasure. His dick swelled against the thick, gold barbell in his ampallang piercing when he saw her place a white sheepskin on the floor in front of the chair before setting a flogger and an ornate box decorated with what looked like Arabic script onto the white tablecloth. When she 5

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bent and lit a ceremonial candle, the light bathed her stunning face in burnished gold, lent a metallic sheen to the long, straight black hair she’d left loose tonight because he’d asked her to. Ironic, he thought. He got paid for hurting opponents on the field, but he was about to give this woman the right to humiliate, even hurt him whenever she wished—to punish him for her sexual pleasure. For his pleasure as well, he’d been learning since they’d begun playing at Rebels’ Roost more than six months ago. Both lawyers, although he was postponing his legal career while he played professional football, they had laughed together about the probable illegality of the contract they were about to enter into. But that hadn’t deterred them. This was the life of sexual slavery she demanded that he embrace. A life of willing enslavement in the service of his big, beautiful Domme, whose voluptuous body and striking combination of features from her African-American father and Japanese mother made heads turn every time they appeared together in public. Her engaging mind and a sense of humor that stimulated his own had captured his soul in a way no one had ever done before. He reached up and stroked his head, shaved earlier today for the collaring ceremony—temporarily, his Domme had assured him. Funny, being bald made him feel even more vulnerable than having his body waxed smooth, which he’d been doing since their second play date. He was used to coming here to the dungeon nude, other than the jewelry in his genital piercings, and he’d grown accustomed to teammates teasing him about his smooth, hairless body. When he considered his discomfort at his hairless scalp, he guessed it bothered him because he hadn’t had his head shaved since his team had done it before the state championships his senior year in high school. Until today. The Jamaican braids he’d originally affected because it had helped him blend with his African-American teammates in spite of his white skin were now swept off the barber’s floor into the trash. He missed those braids which had become an integral part of how he saw himself—a tough player making a statement about his individuality

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more than one finding a convenient way to wear his hair long and still tame his unruly curls. As soon as she summoned him to join her, he would surrender his freedom, much like women in previous centuries used to hand over total control of their lives to their husbands when they vowed love, honor and obedience for the rest of their lives. As he prepared to go to her, he looped the thick, black leather leash he would give her around his neck and dropped to his hands and knees. I am a sexual submissive. I’m not afraid for everyone here to know she is my Mistress and I am her loving slave. He repeated those words, a silent mantra, as he crawled past a handful of his teammates, his head coach and their dungeon playmates. When he reached the sheepskin and knelt at her feet, he bent to place kisses on the light-brown skin of her feet and every one of her ten delectable toes with their bright-red nail polish, dodging the white straps of her stilettos. He set the leash on the floor at her feet. Then he raised his upper body and, for the last time, looked her in the eye as an equal. “Do you want to be my slave—to love, honor and obey me in all things?” He loved the low, mellow tone of her voice and the warmth of her hand as she caressed the crown of his bald head while she spoke the words they’d agreed upon in advance. “Yes, Mistress. I want that above all other things.” He felt no reluctance, for they’d already signed the contract they had written together, a document that spelled out what she was giving him as well as what rights he was ceding to her. In a way the contract they had signed was similar to those that couples who practiced his faith would sign before a rabbi before their wedding. This collaring would bind him as much as any religious or civil wedding ceremony. More than most. He lowered his gaze and focused on the tips of his Mistress’ toes. “I am yours to do with as you will.” “Then I accept you as my slave and take full responsibility for your well-being.” When she straightened, her distinctive scent of musk and roses surrounded the area around them, alerting him to expect a sting from the flogger. “Stand and absorb the 7

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pain from my lash because it gives me pleasure, and feel my pleasure in your body. My beloved slave.” He rose, his gaze focused at her feet. Holding steady, he refused to wince. Truthfully, when the hot, steel-tipped ends of the flogger bombarded his body it aroused him, something his Mistress knew well. His cock lengthened and hardened with each bite of the metal and leather on his flesh, until it stood out from his body as stiff as steel. His testicles drew up in their sac, pulling against the sturdy ring in the guiche piercing she’d commanded that he get as soon as they began considering this commitment. When she flogged his genitals, he grew even more aroused. She soon took pity on him and set aside the flogger. “Kneel, slave. You will wear my collar now.” Turning to the table, she opened the wooden box and drew out a heavy, black collar made of supple leather. Its long, thick metal studs caught the light from the ceremonial candle. When she sat on the chair he bent his head forward and offered her his neck. Stopping first to caress his cheek, she then put the collar on him and fastened the buckle before placing a gold lock into the hasp at his throat and snapping it closed. Despite the fact he deeply wanted to be her slave, the click of metal against metal jolted him for a few seconds, much like he imagined the clank of an iron prison gate shutting would affect a newly convicted felon. The collar fit snugly, a symbol of his enslavement for all to see, yet one she had promised to remove except when they were playing in the dungeon—unless he should require punishment for some predefined misdeed. As they’d discussed before the ceremony, he handed her the leash he had brought and she clipped it to his collar. Then he went down on all fours, lowered his head to his Mistress’ ample lap and rested his hands on her ankles. He awaited the club submissive his Mistress had told him would be helping her initiate him to acts that would be part of their BDSM play in the future. He anticipated his first act of full, total submission with some fear, even a little embarrassment. I am a sexual submissive, my Mistress’ sex slave. I need feel no embarrassment, no shame.

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“Suck my clit, slave.” At her command he slid his hands up her inner thighs, finding and opening the slit at the crotch of her bodysuit. She spread her legs, giving him room to bury his face in her damp, warm pussy and find her swollen clit. He drew it into his mouth as he felt a warm breath on his ass. The gazes of a dozen or more voyeurs burned into the back of his bald head and his vulnerable, exposed ass. But only his Mistress’ helper touched him. She ringed his asshole with her tongue as he pleasured his Mistress. The contact aroused him yet it felt wrong. Nobody had ever messed with his butt before. He’d always associated ass play with something gay or bi men would do, and he was neither. But he was a slave now. His body belonged to the Mistress whose collar he wore, to do with as she wished for her pleasure, so long as she did him no permanent harm. When the sub worked a large, lubricated plug up his ass he tried not to wince, for his Mistress had warned him that any sign of hesitation on his part would embarrass her before the other Doms and Dommes. “Keep sucking. It makes me hot to watch my slave get fucked by another submissive.” Mistress pushed hard on his head then stroked the crown, her touch intensely arousing. His cock felt as though it would burst, but then the submissive woman took it in her hand and jacked him while she worked the plug with the other hand. The warmth of her hands and the arousing heat of his Mistress’ fingers stroking his head made him desperate to come. “Use your fingers in my cunt.” Hot, wet and slick, her cunt swallowed up two fingers so he inserted a third. His balls tightened, his release imminent. He couldn’t hold out for long, though he wanted to come inside his Mistress, not on the floor at the hands of the other sub. Hoping to speed along the ritual, he redoubled his efforts, nipping at his Mistress’ swollen clit while he finger-fucked her hard and fast. “Come, slave.” It wasn’t a request but an order, Mistress to slave. He dared not disobey, but he kept up his sensual assault on her while his climax took him in short,

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staccato bursts that cooled his heat, but only for a moment, until he felt the butt plug being withdrawn and replaced with another one, longer and thicker than the first. He raised his head from his Mistress’ cunt. “What?” Though he tried to choke back the question, it escaped his lips. “Be silent, slave. You aren’t allowed to speak except on my order. Now I have to punish you.” She reached into the box on the table and handed something to her helper. “Attach this to my slave’s cock piercing and then put the lock through it and his guiche ring. It’s evident that he needs to learn what obedience means, to realize I own his cock, just like I own the rest of him. Slave, I want you to tongue-fuck me now.” “Yes, Mistress.” He’d expected this to happen soon—it was in their contract that she had the right to keep him in chastity for varying periods of time as punishment, depending on his particular transgression. He’d even guessed a few months ago how she would do it when she took him to a piercer and had the guiche done. While the piercer had welded a larger and thicker ring than usual into that piercing, she’d picked out a longer, thicker barbell for his ampallang—a barbell with a bend at each end where a second half-ring could be attached. She’d removed his old jewelry and inserted the new last night. Sort of like an engagement ring, she’d told him before giving him a rare treat—a blowjob. But he hadn’t expected her to lock him up right away or in a public forum in front of many of his teammates and coaches. I am a sex slave, a sexual submissive bound to obey my Mistress’ every command. He fought to keep from raising his head and protesting against this ultimate humiliation. He inhaled deeply when the submissive woman grasped his dick and clamped the attachment on either end of the barbell so it hung just far enough from the lower side of his cock head that a lock would pass through it without digging into his flesh—unless he dared to get hard. It proved less painful than he’d imagined when she bent his flaccid dick over his sac and locked the two rings together. But no less humiliating.

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“Make me come now.” His Mistress’ demand rang in his ears as he knelt before her, his plugged ass in the air and the lock swaying below his cock and balls, reminding him of his total submission—his complete impotence. He opened his mouth and fucked her with his tongue, using his fingers to tweak her clit and ring her tight little ass. His dick hurt like hell when it tried to get hard again in response to the taste of her hot, slick nectar, but he loved it. Loved the pain, the humiliation, the knowledge that she had accepted him as her sex slave and would give him what he needed, no matter how much he might protest. Just before she let out a scream and her cunt clamped down on his tongue, he heard her give her helper a quiet order and felt a warm, wet tongue bathing his constricted genitals while she attached something to the end of the fat plug in his ass. It tickled the backs of his thighs, its long stiff hairs swaying against his flesh. Apparently his brand-new Mistress wasn’t going to wait to initiate him to being a pony slave, a right he’d tried in vain to get her to leave out of their contract. He let out a sigh against her spasming pussy. The helper put on his pony shoes as he kept licking his Mistress’ cunt. Thoroughly humbled, he stood on pony hands and pony feet when he felt Mistress’ flogger hit his ass. “I’m going to show our guests just how good a sex slave I’ve trained.” Then she bent and laid a hard, deep kiss on his lips. “I love you, my brand-new slave, and I don’t want you to forget it.” I am a sex slave, a sexual submissive sworn to serve my Mistress’ pleasure. I don’t give a fuck what my Dominant teammates may think, he told himself as she buckled on his headgear. When she took the reins and led him around the room for all the others to see, he started believing what he kept telling himself was true—that he truly didn’t give a fuck what anybody thought, as long as his Mistress loved him and wanted him as her slave.

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I’ll never have to worry about hurting her because I’ve given her every power that has terrified me through the years. I am her slave, bound to serve her, to give her pleasure in whatever manner she dictates.

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Chapter One Current year It felt good to be back in Savannah. Keisha Harris–Rubin sighed as she set her luggage down in the foyer and took her briefcase to the office she’d created out of what used to be a small parlor in her century-old home. As soon as she put a DVD in the stereo and turned it on, the majestic sounds of Beethoven’s Third Symphony filled the silence of the big, empty house. Once she’d settled in at her desk and started her desktop computer to transferring information from the laptop she’d taken to Chicago, she called Matt. It wasn’t often in their relationship that she’d allowed her sex slave out of her sight for as long as ten days, but business was business. His as well as hers. “I’m home. When will you be through with minicamp?” “In an hour or so, Mistress. How was your trip?” “Tiring.” It seemed each business trip was taking more out of her these days. “I missed you bein’ with me.” If Matt hadn’t had to attend minicamp, Keisha would have taken him along. Negotiating on behalf of the players she represented was getting tougher every year, and the general manager of the Chicago team had always been a bastard to deal with. Since four of her clients played there, the negotiations had resulted in four times the usual headaches. “Be sure to tell Dad hello for me. And come on home as soon as you can.” “I will. Gotta go now, though. We’re winding up the minicamp with a team meeting. Coach Zanardi doesn’t much like guys comin’ in late. I love my Mistress.” He sounded okay, properly submissive as usual.

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Keisha smiled into the phone. “I love you, too, slave. I’ve missed you, and I’ll see you when you get home.” After she hung up she wondered if she might not be all that okay. If she could be sick, not just awfully tired. She’d felt lousy since leaving the hotel in Chicago that morning. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on—fatigue, she guessed, but she couldn’t recall ever having had so much trouble breathing. She shivered and that scared her. She’d never felt as cold as she felt now, at least she hadn’t when it was close to eighty degrees outside. Maybe if I go on the porch for a few minutes and get some fresh air? It couldn’t hurt. She saved the file she’d just opened and tried to get up from her desk. Couldn’t. Damn it, she had to get outside before she choked to death. She pushed herself up against the front of the desk with her hands, tried to get her balance. As she hit the floor she tried to reach for the phone but it was out of reach. Matt, you get yourself home right now. I need you, she thought as everything went black.

***** Matt Rubin whistled a happy tune as he headed to their place west of Silk Hope as soon as Coach dismissed the players from the first minicamp of the season. He’d missed Keisha—a lot. It was crazy, but he felt naked because he’d had her collar off for ten whole days—five for the camp and five before that because she’d removed it before leaving on her business trip. If anybody had told him nine years ago that he’d not only switch positions and become a star for the Savannah Rebels rather than a reserve player always worrying about being cut, but that he’d also become the 24/7 sex slave of the woman he loved more than life, he wouldn’t have believed them. I wouldn’t have believed I’d be so comfortable in my own skin, either. A lot had happened to the twenty-two-year-old who’d taken out his aggressions on the football field but shied away from sexual relationships for fear he’d end up like his abusive father. He’d

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played football in the fall and winter, gone to law school the rest of the time until he got his Juris Doctor four years later. What had changed him most, though, was Keisha. Bold, brash and unashamedly dominant, she’d made it clear from the first time he dared to ask her out that she’d be in charge. Even though he was a big, tough athlete—his teammates had nicknamed Killer—he’d realized she was big and strong enough that he’d never feared hurting her. What’s more she relished doling out the sexual punishment he’d always believed he deserved. He could hardly wait to get home, feel the weight of her collar and bury his face in the hot, musky softness of her cunt. That thought made his dick try to get hard for the first time since she’d locked it up before he’d left for minicamp. At first he’d tried to hide the symbols of his sexual submissiveness whenever he could, but every year since she’d collared him he’d grown less uncomfortable revealing it to new, vanilla teammates. This year he simply stripped off his jockstrap at his locker the first day of minicamp and strode naked to the showers, making no effort to hide his dick that Keisha always locked down when they were going to be apart for more than a few hours. He’d just enjoyed his best minicamp since his rookie year. That made him feel damn good. The thirty-five pounds he’d lost since the end of last season improved his raw speed and agility without hurting his ability to pull opponents down. Matt liked the prospect of being the Rebels’ starting inside linebacker, the position he’d taken on last season after the team had lost its starter to a career-ending injury. He even had a chance now to be a defensive team captain, something that never would have happened if he’d stayed at the tackle position. Matt patted his midsection. Keisha would be able to feel the outline of his ribs now beneath a layer of hard muscle. He’d gotten rid of the roll around his middle. By the end of offseason training he’d be down to two hundred fifty pounds—downright svelte

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compared with the three hundred plus that he’d been carrying around since college, weight a tackle needed but a linebacker didn’t. He laughed out loud. His Mistress had tried to diet and exercise with him, but for every pound he lost, she’d seemed to gain one, probably because she didn’t run and lift weights every day the way he did. Pretty soon she’d outweigh him if she didn’t, already. Matt didn’t care. He adored Keisha, loved every voluptuous inch of her. He wouldn’t change a hair on her beautiful head. In a great mood, he turned off the winding asphalt road west of Savannah onto their gravel driveway, slowing down so he could appreciate the beauty of century-old oak trees dripping Spanish moss. Palmettos sprouted up out of blue-green grass on either side of the white-rock drive that rambled through the very private place he and Keisha called home. He pulled his truck up outside the garage next to her white Escalade. Home. Twenty acres of privacy with a six-thousand-square-foot, white-brick house that could have come straight out of Gone with the Wind, complete with a porch held up by ornate, Grecian columns. Keisha’s dream house, its basement was complete with a well-equipped dungeon for nights when they wanted to play but didn’t want to drive to the BDSM club at Rebels’ Roost. Matt looked over at the paddock encircled with a white, rail fence. He couldn’t help thinking of how they used to use it when they’d first bought the property nearly three years ago. He’d whined and begged whenever she rigged him up in his pony gear, hitched him to a cart and whipped him while he pulled her around in the grass until he’d be so exhausted he could barely move. But his rewards had been worth the effort and the pain, because whenever he’d done a good job, she’d unhitched him, braced herself against the paddock fence and let him fuck her from behind. Her stallion, she used to call him. Coming that way, in a dominant position he was rarely allowed, had felt good. Better than good, it had been fucking awesome.

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Matt missed that. He’d found it incredibly arousing as well as humiliating as hell, knowing some visitor might drive up anytime and see him on all fours, wearing pony shoes and headgear and hitched to a cart. As he walked up the stairs to the house he thought about how long it had been since Keisha had wanted to play that way. Sure, she still liked to see him trot around the dungeon on all fours, a pony or dog tail swinging from the plug in his ass. She enjoyed having him lap her cunt while one of the club subs tortured his locked-down genitals, or fucking his ass with a strap-on in plain view of everybody at Rebels’ Roost. Over the past couple years, he’d noticed her cutting back a little at a time on BDSM play that involved much strenuous effort on her part, even at the dungeon. He couldn’t recall the last time she’d striped his back with the cat-o’-nine or locked him onto a St. Andrew’s Cross or spider web so she could adjust his position to enhance her pleasure. The last time she’d put on a strap-on and personally given him a hard ass-fucking had been in January, right after last season had ended. Matt frowned when he noticed their horses, Barney and Bill, munching grass at the far end of the paddock. Over the past few months Keisha had even quit taking morning rides with him, and she’d said something before he left for minicamp about selling Barney, the big chestnut gelding that was her favorite. Is Keisha sick? If she is, I doubt she’d tell me. She’s the most disgustingly self-reliant human being I’ve ever known. I wonder, though. He shoved that worrisome question to the back of his mind. Right now he wanted to get inside to his Mistress. She’d ordered him to get home as quickly as he could, and he always obeyed her.

Wanting to greet her properly, he toed off his shoes and went down on his hands and knees as soon as he stepped through the carved-oak double doors, into the foyer. Crawling as fast as he could, he moved toward Keisha’s office, a former parlor where she did her legal work when she wasn’t flying off somewhere to take care of her clients. 17

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Sounds of the Eroica symphony, the somber second movement if his ears weren’t playing tricks on him, flowed from the stereo system as he crawled along in time with the adagio assai. Keisha loved classical music. She’d even majored in piano as an undergraduate before deciding her real calling was the law. He’d learned to appreciate the classics from her. Before they’d gotten together, his idea of music had been hard rock and an occasional jazz piece. Reaching the office door that she’d left slightly ajar, he pushed it open and crawled inside, anticipating that she’d want him to strip naked for her pleasure the way she’d mentioned when she called him earlier. But she wasn’t at her desk as she’d said she’d be, putting the final touches on a couple of clients’ new contracts. He stood and hurriedly scanned the room. No Keisha. He stepped past her desk to look out the window, thinking she might have stepped out on the porch as she often did on warm spring days like today. Then he saw her. Deathly still, she was lying facedown between the desk and credenza. Matt went back to his knees beside her, panicked when he didn’t see her chest moving up and down. No! He brushed her long hair away, searched for the artery in her neck. Only when he felt a faint pulse did he let out his breath. Her smooth skin, usually warm, felt clammy. “Mistress? Keisha?” When she didn’t respond, he reached in his pocket for his phone and dialed 9-1-1. Terrified for the woman he practically worshiped, Matt’s breath caught in his throat, so much that he was barely able to answer the dispatcher’s questions. As he waited for help, his gaze locked on his Mistress—his wife under the law for a little over three years. That vow had just been a formality necessitated before they’d bought their house, and was not more important than the first promises they’d made to each other in their earlier commitment. He prayed. Nothing formal, just simple words that he spoke directly to God, pleas to make Keisha well. Prayers punctuated by memories of what she’d told him about the music that was building to a crescendo in his head. Tragedy without redemption, was

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what he recalled her saying this movement represented. He raised his hands, covered his ears. He didn’t want to believe the music she’d chosen was prophetic—an omen. That thought turned him icy-cold from the inside out, made him want to scream above the dark adagio he never wanted to hear again.

***** He hadn’t left Keisha’s side, not on the helicopter ride to the hospital and not in the emergency room, even though a doctor and several nurses had tried to make him leave. Not until they’d moved her to the CCU had he stepped away, and only for long enough that her dad could see her after he arrived. The fact she hadn’t regained consciousness terrified Matt, who found himself burning off nervous energy by pacing the long, narrow corridor outside the CCU. The tiny waiting room made him feel as though the walls were closing in on him. He hated hospitals. He’d hated them since he was twelve years old and watched helplessly while his mother lay battered and dying in a dingy room at a soot-stained Brooklyn hospital. Fuck, he’d never forget the sucking, whirring sounds of the machines or those sickening smells of antiseptics and disinfectants. Cries of grieving family members around the trauma unit still rang in his ears, and the picture of his mom’s bruised, torn features stayed with him now, twenty years after she’d passed away. This place, a new, white-brick hospital set in the middle of lush grounds, at least looked clean. Green grass, bright flowers and stately oak trees provided a more cheerful view from the windows than the tired industrial buildings and run-down businesses he remembered staring at from the small, sooty window in his mother’s room. With its determined neutrality, stark white walls and gray and black furniture, this small, Southern hospital reminded Matt of an oversized mortuary. Come to think of it, he hated funeral homes, too. He associated both places with pain and death and loneliness. “Mr. Rubin?”

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He whirled around and saw the slim, gray-haired female doctor who’d been snapping out orders to the nurses taking care of Keisha in the CCU. His breath caught in his throat when he tried to talk. “Yes?” he finally managed. “Your wife has regained consciousness.” She held up her hand when he started to charge back into the unit. “Don’t panic. She’s resting well for the moment, but we need to talk. Shall we go to my office?”

***** Candace Stein, MD, the placard on her door said, told Matt to sit down and then leaned over her desk, her hands steepled in front of her as she focused intense brown eyes on his face. “I assume you’re aware your wife is killing herself,” she said bluntly. Matt blinked, unnerved at the doctor’s words. “I certainly wasn’t until you told me. She seemed fine when I spoke with her on the phone. That was less than two hours before I got home and found her passed out on the floor.” “Has Mrs. Rubin always been so heavy?” Dr. Stein, whom he noticed was skinny almost to the point of anorexia, asked that question as if it were an indictment, and Matt didn’t like her attitude one bit. “Keisha has been voluptuous ever since I’ve known her, and that’s been more than six years. I guess she probably has put on a few more pounds in the past year.” “Well, she needs to take off considerably more than a few of those pounds if she wants to stay alive for long. This episode can be just a warning, or it can be the first of many, one of which will certainly kill her.” The doctor went on to explain that the decreased blood oxygen that had caused Keisha to pass out was just one condition that frequently accompanied what she called morbid obesity. “She’s diabetic, something that apparently wasn’t diagnosed until now. Her blood pressure is out of control. And I imagine you may have noticed her suddenly gasping for breath at night when she’s been sleeping.”

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“Some.” Though Matt was a pretty sound sleeper and Keisha usually made him sleep on a yoga mat beside her bed, he’d been wakened several times lately by her labored breathing. “When I asked her about it, she shrugged it off, saying she’s allergic to the spring pollen. Come to think of it, though, you’re right. What she’s been doing lately sounds more like gasping than the wheezing she’s always had in spring and fall.” The doctor nodded. “You said she’d gained more weight recently. Has she been depressed?” Depressed? Keisha was the least depressed woman he’d ever known. “Not at all. I’ve noticed that she’s cut back lately on a lot of the activities she used to enjoy, though. We’ve been dieting together during this offseason, but I’m afraid she may have gained as much weight as I’ve lost.” Dr. Stein gave him a strange look, as if she thought he was blind. “I’ve ordered some tests. Unless the results tell me something I don’t expect, I’m going to recommend bariatric surgery, since from what you say, I doubt diet modification will help your wife. With her out-of-control hypertension and uncontrolled diabetes, she isn’t a candidate for appetite-suppression medications, and she’s in no condition to undertake a regimen of strenuous physical activity. If I’m not mistaken, tests will show she’s also suffering from sleep apnea.” “You’re serious. You think Keisha’s going to die, don’t you?” Matt’s chest felt tight, as though someone had tightened a noose around his heart. “I don’t think it, I know she will unless she changes her lifestyle, although I can’t give you an accurate estimate of when she’ll have a fatal episode. What happened today was a stern warning that she can’t go on as she has been. You realize she’s more than a hundred pounds over her optimum weight, don’t you?” The doctor sat back in her chair and gave him the once-over. “You’re a big man, yourself, but you look as though you’re in pretty good condition.”

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“I play football for a living. I have to keep my body conditioned. I also have to carry what would probably be too much weight for the average guy. What does that have to do with Keisha?” “You live with her. You eat what, five or six thousand calories a day, which you burn off in the weight room? Am I right?” Matt didn’t like Dr. Stein’s accusatory tone. “During the season, yes, but I’ve cut back this offseason, and I’ve lost over thirty-five pounds. Keisha’s been dieting with me.” “And she’s also cut down on her physical activities and gained some weight. Right?” “Yes.” Matt hadn’t thought to relate the two facts, but the doctor made sense. “What do you propose I do about it?” “I spoke with your wife briefly about her condition, but she wasn’t receptive to my suggestions. I propose that you talk Mrs. Rubin into having a gastric bypass or laparoscopic banding as soon as it’s physically feasible. I’m going to call in Dr. Carl Sheldon—he’s one of the best bariatric surgeons in Savannah—to take a look at her and make his recommendation.” When Matt walked out of Dr. Stein’s office, his head was reeling. He was Keisha’s slave, not her Master or even her husband in the sense the doctor probably assumed. He couldn’t imagine she’d take well to him suddenly telling her he wanted her to make any changes in her lifestyle, much less a change so extreme as to require surgery.

***** Matt ran into Charlie Harris, the Rebels’ defensive coordinator and Keisha’s dad, as he was coming out of the CCU. “What’s the matter? What did Keisha’s doctor say?” Charlie grabbed Matt by the shoulder and propelled him into the tiny waiting room that mercifully was empty for the moment. 22

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“I have to go talk to Keisha,” Matt said, resisting his father-in-law’s effort to shove him into one of the gray plastic chairs that lined the walls of the little room—one that sat next to a corner that held a small, black-lacquered table. A stack of out-of-date magazines sat beside a chrome-and-steel gooseneck lamp, as though anybody waiting for word about a critically ill loved one might want to read about fashion, football or home decorating. “She’s sleeping right now, so the talk can wait. You sit down, boy, and tell me why my girl’s lying in that bed with tubes stuck into her like she’s a pincushion.” Matt let out a sigh but gave Charlie a summary of what Dr. Stein had told him. “I dread telling Keisha,” he said, swiping at the sudden pulsing ache in his forehead with one hand. “She’ll ask me who the hell I think I am, trying to act like I’m her husband instead of her slave.” “Here’s what I think, boy. It’s about time for you to get some balls.” “What the fuck do you mean?” Charlie had never said a word to Matt before about his and Keisha’s lifestyle, and he sure as hell had never set foot in Rebels’ Roost. Keisha’s dad was about as vanilla as anybody associated with the Rebels. “I know more than I want to about the ass-backward arrangement you and my girl have, and I’ve got a pretty good notion of some of the shit that goes on at Rebels’ Roost. How the hell could I help figurin’ it out when you go around the locker room with your dick locked down half the time, and when you have on a dog collar when I visit you at home?” Charlie had a point, but he certainly had never mentioned a word before. “I guess it would have been pretty hard to ignore the signs.” “Don’t worry, just take over. Make her do what she needs to do. I’ll back you up if she tries to give you grief.” For a minute Charlie shut up, but then he shook his head. “I guess Keisha’s always had it rough, her being big like my ma when her mom was so dainty and all. I feel real bad for passing along my fat genes to her, especially now when you’re telling me she may die because of them.” 23

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“Not your fault, Charlie.” But Matt wasn’t so sure. After Keisha’s mom had died, Charlie had sent Keisha to live with his mother and grandmother, a couple of the biggest women and best cooks Matt had ever met. “Like you told me last fall when we first talked about me switching positions, weight’s largely a matter of what and how much a guy eats. If I can lose a bunch of weight, why can’t Keisha do it, too?” “Because food’s always been my girl’s security blanket. And the bigger she’s gotten, the less she’s wanted to exercise.” Charlie paused, as if he wondered if he should go on. “Mama and Grandma did that to me, too. If I hadn’t gone away to college and had a coach who clamped down on me, I’d have been in the same boat. Did you know I weighed three twenty when I was eighteen?” Three twenty? Charlie was several inches shorter than Matt and the heaviest Matt had ever been was three ten. “No. I have trouble believing that.” Charlie had been an all-Pro defensive end, and though he’d been coaching now for ten or twelve years, he still kept himself in pretty good shape. “It’s true. I used to eat a lot when I was happy and even more when I was sad. Just about every occasion was an excuse to eat at my house. And I sent my girl to live there after her mama died.” Charlie hung his head. Matt reached over, patted the older man’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Charlie. Keisha loves her grandmas. And you did what you had to do.” The man couldn’t very well have played pro ball without having some help raising his daughter who’d been just eight years old when her mom had died. “But damn it, we can’t let Keisha kill herself.” Matt stood. He had to talk to Keisha now, and he had to make her listen. “I’m going in there to talk to her now.” Charlie shook his head. “Good luck, son.”

***** “No way. You’re insane if you think I’m gonna have this surgery. That doctor is out of her mind. I just had a little fainting spell, but now I feel perfectly okay. If you don’t

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like me the way I am, get your white ass out of here and don’t come back.” Keisha sounded surprisingly strong. The fact she was hostile to his suggestions didn’t surprise him at all. “If you don’t, you’ll be sorry when I spring myself out of here.” “Sweetheart—” “I’m not your fucking sweetheart, I’m your Mistress and don’t you forget it.” Matt should leave. If he did he would be following his Mistress’ express orders, something he’d been doing without question for the past five years, ever since he’d knelt in the dungeon at Rebels’ Roost and sworn to be her faithful, obedient slave. He had no doubt that Keisha meant it when she ordered him to go. But he couldn’t walk away. He loved her too damn much. If she died, a large part of him would go with her. He clenched his fists and looked her in the eye. “I love you and want you to keep on being my Mistress for a long time. It nearly killed me to find you passed out on the floor and not to be able to rouse you. They say that sort of thing’s gonna keep happening until one day they won’t be able to revive you. I don’t think I could go on living if I lost you. That’s why I’m begging you to listen to the doctors.” When he said that, she scrunched up her face and practically yelled, “Get out of my face now, I said. And don’t you come back in here unless it’s to help me get out of this bed to go home.” Matt noticed the zigzag patterns on a monitor above her bed start to jump as though they were on steroids. When Matt would have said more, a nurse grabbed his arm and escorted him away. “Her blood pressure’s gone crazy. You can try talking to her later,” she said as she shoved him through the door.

***** “She threw me out.” Charlie scowled at Matt. “If you care for our girl, you’ll forget what she told you and get your ass right back in there as soon as the nurse says it’s okay.”

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“I don’t know. Maybe she’s so used to me doing everything she tells me to, that she can’t make herself believe I might have anything worthwhile to say.” “Damn it, Keisha loves you though I admit she sometimes has a funny way of showing it.” Charlie punctuated those words with a shake of his head. “If there’s anybody on this earth she’ll listen to, it’s you.” Matt doubted that, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Now that he’d taken a little while to mull over what Dr. Stein had said, he knew it was true. His Mistress was a walking time bomb just waiting to explode, and she’d just get worse if she didn’t have the surgery. If Keisha died, he might as well die, too, because without her he knew he wouldn’t want to stick around. He’d lost too fucking many people he cared for, and he wasn’t about to lose another one if he could do anything to prevent it. Even if it meant he’d have to break a vow he made to himself twenty years ago, a promise that he’d never use his strength against a woman or force her to do anything against her will. Even if it meant he’d have to give up the security of submitting to his Mistress to save her life. Matt squared his shoulders. He tried to still the tremor in his hands and squelch the terror in his mind. If he was going to help Keisha help herself, he’d have to take control, something he hadn’t done except on the football field since he’d become her slave.

***** Drip, drip, drip. The clear stuff flowing from a plastic bag above Keisha’s bed and down a tube into her arm reminded her of tears—the tears she positively wasn’t going to shed. She was no sniveling girl, no way. Annoying beeps from machines kept disturbing her every few seconds, as regular as the raindrops that often pelted her office window during spring storms. She saw worried faces that weren’t there. Her daddy’s. Matt’s. The skinny fucking doctor’s somber look when she’d told her with a somber tone that she was lucky to be alive, this time.

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This time. Who’s the bitch to say I’m gonna keep having these episodes over and over until one of them kills me? Great-Grandma is close to eighty and she’s okay. So is Grandma. Both of them are heavier than me. Or are they? I’m not sure of that anymore. Keisha tried to move around but they’d attached her to all fucking kinds of tubes and machines. She had to get out of this place right now. “Matt,” she yelled when it became obvious she would need his help to escape. Good slave, she thought when she saw him standing in the doorway. No one would guess by looking at him that he was a slave of any kind, much less a totally submissive sex slave. With his short, curly, sable hair—she missed the Jamaican braids he used to wear—and his newly slimmed-down, buff body that looked a hundred percent muscle in his tight T-shirt and snug jeans, he came across as a man who ought to be feared. That suited her now, as much as it did for him to show the guys he was her obedient slave when they played at Rebels’ Roost. She needed somebody to intimidate the doctors and nurses in this place. They all seemed to think their words were law. She needed somebody strong who wasn’t hooked up to a dozen or more instruments of torture. “What do you need?” He came up to her bed, grinned and then bent low to whisper in her ear. “Mistress.” Matt looked scared when he met her gaze. But not of her. He looked as though he thought she had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. I’m not that bad off, am I? “Help me get out of here. I want to go home.” “I’ll take you home, sweetheart, as soon as your doctor says it’s okay.” “I want to go now, I said.” Matt took her hand and shot her a very unsubmissive-looking grin. “You don’t want to leave against medical advice and lose your chance to sue these folks, do you?” Keisha couldn’t help grinning back. He’d been tossing his supposedly superior knowledge of the law at her, albeit in a properly submissive way, ever since he’d passed 27

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the bar six months ahead of her. “I want out of here. Listen. The damn beeping of these machines is driving me crazy. And I can feel every drip, drip, drip of the fluid from that IV into my arm. When I get home I’m gonna tie you down in a bed and make you listen to noises like this. It’ll serve you right for dragging me in here.” “Maybe I ought to tie you to this bed.” The way he said it made her think he just might mean it. Then he met her gaze, his expression sober. “Damn it, Keisha, I’m gonna take control for once. Somebody’s got to make you listen to what the doctors are trying to tell you.” He paused, as though he had as much trouble as she was having, believing he’d just said that. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if I could go on if I lost you. Dr. Stein may not have put the fear of God into you, but she’s certainly put it in me.” “You think you can take over, slave? Think you’re up to making a switch?” The possibility made Keisha’s pussy go all soft and…but no, she was no sniveling sub. She couldn’t imagine letting her slave turn around and Master her. “I don’t believe that for a minute.” “Believe it, sweetheart. If it means you dying if I don’t, I can do almost anything.” He laid a hand on her cheek, his touch firm and confident. “Let me take control and help you do what you need to do. When you’re well again, I’ll gladly hand the reins back to you.” Matt bent over her and kissed her mouth, something she hadn’t let him do for ages. Something he’d never done before without asking her permission. “C’mon, let’s give it a shot.” Taking advantage of her helplessness, he kissed her again, this time slipping his tongue between her lips and slowly moving it in and out. She imagined him claiming her cunt that way, only with his cock. It had been too long since she’d opened the hasp on that padlock and watched his big cock come to instant, impressive erection. “How about it, Mistress? Are you up for trying out a new game?” he murmured against her lips. “Do you have the guts to let me be your Master for a while?”

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Did she? Could she? The last time she’d let anybody tell her what to do, she’d been seventeen and still living with her grandmother, shoveling down the biscuits and fatback as if there were no tomorrow. Grandma’s words still rang in Keisha’s ears. Eat up, girl, you don’t want to be one of them skinny minnies. Man wants a woman with some meat on her bones. Damn it, Keisha had been feeling lousy the past few months. She’d worried this morning that she wouldn’t be able to make it down the long jetway and onto the plane to come home. And it was fucking scary, being here in this high-tech torture chamber, hooked up to all this noisy, scary equipment. Maybe the skinny doctor was onto something. But… “You know my grandma and great-grandma are both big women, and they seem to be okay.” Matt raised his head and looked into her eyes. “Charlie told me your mom was little. Maybe you got genes from her that are trying to tell you that you shouldn’t haul around so much weight.” Maybe so. Her mother had been a tiny, Japanese-American woman her dad had met in San Francisco while playing football there, nothing like the grandmothers who’d raised her. Keisha figured it was possible her mom had passed along some skinny genes, the way Matt was suggesting. Then again, she thought darkly, Matt might be regretting a little bit that he has a Mistress who weighs more than he does. “You sure you don’t just want a Mistress who’s skinny like Tawny Winters?” “Jack’s welcome to Tawny. She’s too easy on him, but of course that’s not to say she isn’t drop-dead gorgeous. But I only want you and you can take that to the bank.” He paused and dropped another gentle kiss on Keisha’s lips. “I want you to get healthy, so we can play with each other ‘til we’re old and gray. Baby, you know I lost my mother and dad when I was twelve years old—Mom to death and Dad to prison. I don’t think I could stand to lose you, too.” Keisha saw a couple of tears escape from his expressive brown eyes and make their way down his cheeks. If she could move her hands without disconnecting the IV

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tubing, she would reach up and brush those tears away, but she was afraid she’d pull something out, so she looked up at him and said, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise. I suppose if this other doctor that’s coming to check me out says I ought to have an operation, I’ll do it. And I’ll let you take control over me for a while, the way I’ve been controlling you. I guess turnabout’s fair play. Think you can do it?” “Count on it, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever it takes to help my Mistress get back in fighting shape, even if it means taking charge of us for a while. I’ll even try to keep your clients happy while you’re recuperating.”

***** At first it had been hard, but as time had gone by, Matt had started to enjoy what he’d feared he couldn’t pull off—the switch. Part of him enjoyed commanding Keisha’s pleasure, but a larger part of him still longed for the day when he could go back to being her obedient slave. She had taken back her agent work three weeks after the lap-band procedure, but it had been months now and he was still in charge of her diet, her exercise and most important, her sexual satisfaction—in addition to his job playing football for the Rebels. When he had to be away on road trips, their housekeeper would oversee her diet and remind her to do her exercises. Not that he’d have it any other way, even when it seemed he’d been in control 24/7 for the longest time in his life. The longest time since he’d handed over his sexual freedom to Keisha, anyhow. This stint at trying to be her Master wouldn’t go on for much longer now, and he was glad, because he realized what a stretch it was for Keisha to submit. She’d already lost more than half the weight the doctor had insisted upon, her diabetes was under control and her sleep apnea had almost disappeared. The vomiting and nausea she’d suffered at first following the surgery had stopped as her body got used to a new way of eating.

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Matt chuckled. Dr. Stein had mentioned today when they had gone in for Keisha’s checkup, that she should reach her weight goal before the year was out. He could hardly wait, because then she’d be taking back the reins in their relationship. Not that he minded being the one issuing the orders, it was just that it got damn tiresome after a while, trying to dominate a reluctant sub. He even found he sometimes missed the pull of that lock she’d told him to take off his cock the day she’d agreed to put herself under his temporary control.

***** They had just gotten home from her doctor visit, and he figured it was time to nudge Keisha toward resuming some of the activities that were too much for her before the operation. “Barney and Bill need some exercise, and so do you,” he told her when he found her in their bedroom putting away her jacket and purse. “We won’t have too many nice days like today before winter sets in.” Without saying a word, she obediently stripped and slipped on a pair of jeans that now fit almost as loosely as a clown suit. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tugged on her favorite cowboy boots and pulled one of his sweatshirts over her head. Obediently, she followed him to the barn where he lifted a saddle off its stand and handed it to her. “I had Maddie fix us a picnic to have out by the stream at the back of the property.” She shot him an incredulous look. “We’re riding that far? Oh, I’m sorry, Master, I shouldn’t be questioning you. You’ll have to punish me.” “I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something.” He swatted her bottom and then turned to saddle Bill. She laughed as she tightened the cinch on Barney’s saddle. “You’re not a very demanding Master, did you know that?” He knew it. He was sure he’d feel more natural playing quarterback, which he’d never done, than he did pretending to be a sexual Dominant. “I think I’ll have to take

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you to Rebels’ Roost tonight and show you how demanding I can be.” He tried not to think about how hard it was for him to tie up the woman he worshiped and display his control over her. Or how terrified he was that someday he’d lose control and do something to injure the woman he adored. Every time they’d played since they made their bargain, he thought about that night so long ago when he’d crawled to her, eagerly accepting pain and humiliation at her hands as his due. A large part of him missed the sense that gave him—a sense of belonging to her in body as well as in soul. “Come on, slave, time’s wasting,” he said as he gave her a leg up.

Later, Keisha spread a blanket on the ground under a towering oak tree while Matt hobbled their horses at the edge of a slow-running stream a few yards away. Her ass and thighs ached from the ride, but she felt great as she sat and breathed in the crisp autumn air. The breeze ruffled limbs that were bright with their fall foliage, sending a few gold, orange and red leaves spinning around her as she set out their lunch. She wrinkled her nose at the half sandwich, cottage cheese, lettuce and fresh pear she set out for herself, unable to avoid looking longingly at her Master’s pair of roast turkey sandwiches on fresh rye. He’d give her part of his if she asked, but if she overate, she’d probably throw up and that wouldn’t be fun. He met her gaze, his expression playful. “Mmm, this is good.” “I bet it is, Master.” She fished a fork out of her napkin and started eating her salad, slowly as she’d learned was necessary now that her stomach was less than half the size it used to be. “How long do you think it will take before I get down to the weight that Dr. Stein insists I need to be?” “She said it should take a year, so I’d say you should be there by the time our trees start putting out new leaves next spring.” He looked up at the limb nearest them. “April. I can barely wait.”

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“You know, you promised that when I hit my goal, you’d become my sex slave again.” Matt shot her that sexy grin that always made her heart do flip-flops. “Yeah. I’m good with that. I told you I would be, when we agreed to pull this switch.” “You even like being my pony slave, don’t you?” She pictured him naked, his hot, tight ass in the air, tail swishing over his straining thighs as he pulled her around the paddock in the pony cart. For a few seconds she relived the day she’d had him put the cart and gear away in the barn after finding herself unable to handle more than the slightest exertion. It had been so long. Too long since she’d been able to exert her will on her beloved slave. “If my Mistress wishes, that is when she becomes my Mistress again. Meanwhile, now that you’ve finished your lunch, come over here and suck my cock while I finish my sandwich.” When he unzipped his jeans his long, thick cock sprang free. The thick barbell in his ampallang piercing gleamed in the afternoon sun. The wretch had left off his underwear that morning. He must have planned this along with their ride and the picnic. He shot her a challenging look. “Do it now, my reluctant darling.” Keisha bent and sampled the drop of slick, salty lubrication in his slit. He tasted good. Funny how she’d always hated sucking cock before, when it felt so good now to take Matt in her mouth and savor the taste and texture of him. She lowered her head, took him deeper until his cock head tickled her throat and her lips rested against his smooth, hairless crotch, his silky ball sac. He’d never followed through on the threat to quit waxing his body hair, for which she was grateful. When he’d shaved her pussy for the first time not long after her surgery, she’d discovered right away how much she liked the feeling of smooth, naked skin on naked skin. It felt so good that she intended to keep shaving even after she reclaimed the dominant position in their relationship. She might even have the hair 33

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removed permanently, if only to deprive Matt of the pleasure of keeping her pussy smooth. On the other hand she might not. She loved the way he always licked her mound and labia after he shaved her, to make sure he’d gotten every last hair. Sucking him as though he were a huge, salty lollipop, she used her hands to knead his muscular thighs. It felt incredible when he tangled his fingers in her loose hair, which he wouldn’t let her tie back out of the way, now that he was in charge. “That’s right, sweetheart, my come’s gonna be your dessert. Omigod!” He held her on his cock, stopping her from lifting her head off him. “Suck me. Hard. Oh yeah, like that.” She wanted to feel his cock in her cunt, stretching and filling her. He had her wound tight, every cell in her body screaming for a release that he might or might not grant her. Just as she used to withhold satisfaction from him. Oh God. He slid one hand along her throat, lower. Caught a nipple between his fingers and pulled it, imitating the motion she was making on his cock. It felt…delicious. Fuck, but he knew how to prime her. Her cunt clenched and her clit swelled against her panties. She wanted his mouth on her, wanted his tongue lapping up the moisture she felt building between her legs. No, she needed him to take her, pound his monster cock into her body. She wanted him to claim her cunt the way he was claiming her mouth. “Stop. Now. Stand up against the tree and drop your pants. I want to come inside your hot, wet cunt.” Matt sounded stressed, as stressed as Keisha felt. Lifting her mouth off him, she scrambled to her feet, slid her loose jeans and silk panties down around her ankles and braced her hands against the tree. “Like this, Master?” “Oh yeah. Just like that.” He grasped her ass cheeks, the workout-toughened skin on his hands abrading her flesh as he slid them higher, under her loose shirt. After deftly unfastening her bra, he caught her breasts and kneaded them while he pounded into her from behind. “I love your big tits, almost as much as I love your cunt. It’s so wet for me. Oh God.” 34

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“Oh God” was right. When he fucked her like this she remembered her pony stallion, sweaty and panting from exertion, fucking her against the paddock fence. She recalled the arousing smell of his sweat mingled with the musk of their sex. And she wanted to experience that again. She wanted to make her big, beautiful slave feel her dominance. But shit! Right now she was his slave and what she wanted most was to pleasure him. “Fuck me hard, Master. Please,” she begged. “Make me come.” “You like me fucking you this way, don’t you, my reluctant little slave?” Shifting slightly, he pulled almost free then slammed into her harder, deeper. Deep in her belly she felt it coming. The tingling, congested feeling that demanded release. “Yes!” “Yes, what?” He paused, his cock buried to the balls in her. It felt delicious, but she needed the friction. Needed to come. “Yes, Master.” “Do you want to come now?” His deep, hoarse tone told her he was close, too. “God yes.” “Beg me nicely and I may let you.” “Please, Master, may I come?” He started to move again, slow and deep. “Yeah, baby, come. Come for your Master.” With every stroke he touched her G-spot and the pressure in her belly built to a fever pitch. Delicious. Maddening. “Come now.” It was as though a dam inside her burst. Erotic sensations sped along every nerve ending. Her vaginal muscles clenched around his naked, spasming cock. Hot spurts of his release fed her climax and made it last what seemed like forever. Finally spent, she slumped against the scratchy bark of the tree, barely noticing when he lifted her and laid her on the blanket.

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Chapter Two Eight months after the Switch Smart-ass honky. Keisha sighed when Matt smirked at her as he drove past the chain doughnut shop where she’d had a brief relapse the last time she went shopping at this mall. “So you don’t believe I learned my lesson, huh? Think I need a Master’s discipline to keep away from temptations like that? Is that why you insisted on comin’ along to help me buy another new wardrobe?” The bright holiday lights bathed his handsome face in shades of red and green. “I’m just being careful with my most prized possession, baby. You got mighty sick the last time you treated yourself to all those doughnut holes. Besides, I like watching you try on new threads.” Matt pulled her Escalade into a parking spot and shut down the engine. “Get a move on. We don’t want to be late to the dungeon, do we?” “No, Master.” Her tone sounded so sickeningly sweet, Keisha thought she might have used up her allotted calories for the next week, just from listening to herself grovel. “What do you have in mind for me tonight?” He grabbed her hand and brought it to her lips then practically dragged her toward the mall. “If I remember correctly, you never would tell me ahead of time so I could anticipate my torture. Surely you don’t expect me to give you a preview.” “Wretch. I’d sometimes give you hints.” Since they’d been riding the horses early every morning for the past month and playing under that oak tree that by now had lost the last of its autumn leaves, she’d been looking forward to their next night at Rebels’ Roost. Today, while he was at practice, she’d even made herself come while imagining what delicious torments he might have in store for her. Once they were inside and headed toward her favorite shop for clothes, he bent and whispered in her ear over the familiar sounds of the Christmas songs that were luring

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kids to the mall’s Santa display. “You remember how much you used to like watching me get ass-fucked?” Oh yeah. She remembered. The thought made her cunt clench. “Uh-huh.” “I think I’ll see how you like that. Only it won’t be quite the same.” The grin he shot her way said a hell of a lot more than his words. She didn’t think she’d like whatever it was Matt had in mind, but now they were inside the store and she didn’t want to give the other shoppers and the salesclerks an earful. Smiling sweetly at him, she headed toward a rack full of coordinated slacks and tops. “Do you like this?” She held up a multicolored top that looked a lot like a shortened muumuu. He wrinkled his nose. “I like being able to ogle your shape, and I can’t do it if you cover it up in a tent. I want to see you wearing tight jeans and tops that cling to your gorgeous curves.” “I bet you do.” Her curves weren’t all that gorgeous yet, but they would be once she hit that magic number. She was already considering having plastic surgery to get rid of skin that hadn’t contracted sufficiently as she lost weight, something she wouldn’t do until she took back the reins in their relationship because she had a feeling her Master would say no. Grabbing the smallest jeans off the rack and scooping up a magenta turtleneck sweater, she headed for the dressing room. “You coming?” “Oh yeah.” Twenty minutes later Keisha made what she figured would be her final purchase from the store that catered to plus-size women. She had trouble believing how much she’d shrunk since last spring when she’d had the surgery. She kind of missed the bulk. It had been a statement about her power as a Domme as much as anything. But she didn’t miss the shortness of breath or the constant feelings of lethargy. She started to lift the bulging sacks, but Matt stopped her. “Give me those. They look way too heavy for such a skinny girl to carry.” His teasing grin made her smile back at him. “We’re off to Rebels’ Roost.” 37

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***** Dungeon night. It had a special meaning to her. To Matt, too, she realized as she took in his thoughtful expression. God but she loved him, even if he had taken control and forced her to do what she’d known deep down that she had to. Soft, sensual music flowed over them as they descended the stairs to the main dungeon at Rebels’ Roost. “Sid must be tying Talia up again tonight,” Matt commented as they stepped into the main dungeon. Keisha smiled up at him, loving the dark, dangerous look of him in the dimly lit room then looking around to see that Matt was right. Diminutive receiver, Sid Cassidy, was spotlighted as he suspended his tiny, blonde slave above the center stage in an elaborate pattern of Japanese rope bondage. When Matt put his hand at Keisha’s back, she moved with him toward the dressing rooms, liking the closeness he seemed determined to foster between them—gentle Master and reluctant slave though they might be.

Keisha stripped quickly and changed into a leopard-patterned bodysuit with convenient cutouts in all the appropriate places. Even a month ago, the last time they’d come here, she couldn’t have stuffed herself into this outfit Matt had bought her while he’d been on a road trip to Orlando at the beginning of the season. When she glanced in the mirror, she grinned. It fits fine now. I look downright hot if I say so myself. She shoved her feet into stilettos then tweaked her nipples so they stood out. Matt will like me this way. With a growing sense of self-confidence she sauntered out into the main dungeon. When she saw him it was all she could do to keep her tongue in her mouth. Her man was beyond hot. Masterful. The black, leather body harness he had on reminded her of the old days when she used to rig him up in another type of harness and hitch him to the pony cart for a ride. But he didn’t look like a slave now. No, she was the slave and she’d do well to remember it, until she took off this last forty pounds. Dropping to her knees, she 38

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crawled to him, excitement coursing through her body when he reached down and pulled her up and into his arms. A dozen pairs of eyes bored into her as players paused in their own games to check them out. Spotlights swirled around the room, red and yellow and green, as her Master led her to the darkened stage at the right of Sid and Talia. Keisha froze for a minute, unused to having so much attention focused on her as the submissive partner in their play. “Come on, my precious slave.” Matt spoke softly yet with an authority she couldn’t deny. “Show our friends you’re not afraid to follow your Master.” Colors swirled around them as they made their way to the stage. The lights followed them, caught the buckles on his harness and turned his muscular, tanned body into delectable shades of dark and light. His dark-brown hair glowed in the light, and his eyes were pools of hot, liquid desire. When she saw his huge, pierced cock jutting straight out from his groin, her breath caught in her throat. He drew her up the steps. “I’m gonna make you the center of attention as well as the center of my world.” Hot. His gaze scalded her as he took her in his arms and her nipples peaked when he drew her hard against his chest. “Don’t be shy about submitting to me, baby. You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.” “To you, maybe, Master.” But she loved hearing him say it. For the first time in years she felt she was beautiful, at least to Matt. That was all that really mattered. He caught her long, straight hair in one meaty fist, forcing her to look into his eyes. “If I say you’re beautiful, you are. Not just to me but to everybody. You know what I want, don’t you?” She knew. Going to her knees, she braced her hands on his powerful thighs and took him in her mouth. When she moved on him, he widened his stance and gave her access to his low-hanging sac. She loved how his testicles shifted against her hands when she stroked him there, how his cock twitched in her mouth at her gentle touch. 39

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“Oh yeah. Don’t stop.” He laced his fingers through her hair, his touch sure, confident. Dominant. She was no sniveling sub but she loved showing her respect, her love for her man, even now as he brought home the fact that he was in charge to her as well as everybody who was watching them. Flashing lights cast their hues on his buff body, illuminating his smooth, golden skin as they rocked on each other to the sensuous beat of the music. The musky scent of his sex filled her nostrils as she took his cock deeper, sucked him harder. God but she wanted him inside her, stretching and filling her cunt…fucking her hard and fast. “Stop, baby.” His calloused fingers chafed her cheeks as he drew her off him. “I want to fuck you now.” “Oh yeah. Fuck me, please.” “Please, what?” “Please, Master.” The word still caught on her tongue every time he made her acknowledge his dominance, but she managed to spit it out. He laughed as he helped her to her feet. “Up on the fucking swing, my reluctant slave. I want all your holes wide open for me.” Before the switch, he wouldn’t have dared ask her to do this, and she’d felt too lousy to demand that he put himself on the swing for her pleasure. Now she arranged herself at his command within the flimsy-looking webbing that would support her torso, arms and legs. “How much weight will this thing hold?” she asked when Matt began securing her for his pleasure. He bent and nuzzled her ear before speaking in a deep, husky tone. “Way more than you, sweetheart. Don’t you remember how you rigged me up in this, last season?” “Yeah.” That seemed so long ago, before all this—before she’d agreed to have this surgery and let Matt become her temporary Master. The familiar smell of his aftershave surrounded her. It stayed in the air even after he’d straightened and moved behind her.

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A metallic click and then another let her know he was throwing light switches on the wall behind her. He’d centered the focus of the strobe lights on her, blue and red and bright, illuminating yellow. God help her, he’d put her out on display for anybody who cared to look. She’d never have allowed this if she were in charge, though she’d often done it to him. Curious eyes seemed to bore into her from around the room, friends and nearstrangers alike, as though drawn to her nowhere-near-perfect body by the light show. She held her breath as he came back to her and adjusted the ropes on the swing until her ass hung level with his jutting erection. “I think you’re gonna like this, my hot little slave. I know I will.” His body heat scalded her when he moved closer, bent over her back and molded his hands around her breasts. “Look around. See how seeing you this way is making all the guys’ cocks get hard.” Coach Zanardi had his wife Susan on her knees, servicing him the way Keisha had just serviced Matt. Jimmy Bronson jacked his cock while his Julie looked on, and Sid paused in wrapping the elaborate rope bondage he was applying to his submissive bride. Keisha’s friend and fellow Domme, Tawny Winters, was on her knees removing Jack’s chastity device while Jack watched her, his eyes dark with passion. The women who weren’t otherwise occupied with their own Masters were drooling over Matt. Keisha was already wet, just thinking about him taking her in a way she’d never have allowed before she’d let him take over. The heat of his big hands on her butt cheeks reminded her he was in complete control over her body. Her mind. Part of her wanted to rebel, to tear herself free of the buckles and straps that held her helpless to his sensuous torture. Another part reveled in his strength, the way he was now controlling her for his pleasure. Her pleasure, too. When he bent and nipped at one ass cheek with his strong, white teeth she imagined how she must look to others, helpless and forced to remain submissive while he took his time, kneading and stroking her, his hot breath scalding her with his need, feeding her own. 41

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“Please, Master.” She hardly recognized her own voice, her longing for him to top her, prove his dominance by taking her this way, in full view of everyone in the club, as she’d topped him so many times. He made her want the pain, the humiliation, the same intense physical and emotional sense of belonging he’d told her so many times she’d given him. When he bit her at the junction of her neck and throat it sent waves of pleasure-pain through her, distracted her from the feeling of fullness when he pressed the tip of his huge, rigid cock against her rear hole. “Tell me what you want.” “You, Master.” “You’ve gotta be specific. Tell our friends you want my cock up your ass, baby.” Her cheeks grew hot, but she lifted her head and forced herself to make eye contact with Matt’s teammates and their lovers. It was only fair. Many of them had watched her ass-fuck Matt with a strap-on, or watched a submissive do it while another club submissive tortured his locked-up cock and balls. It was her turn now to experience what she’d forced on him so many times. “I want to feel my Master’s cock where nobody’s ever gone before. I want him to fuck my ass, hard and fast.” “That’s my girl.” He nipped her shoulder again then stood. “Tawny, I need to borrow Jack for a little while.” Keisha met her friend’s amused gaze, watched her kiss her husband’s cock, now swollen to full erection since she’d freed him from his chastity device. “All right, Matt. Jack, you belong to Matt—for now. Go do whatever he tells you to.” “Yes, Mistress.” The tall, submissive tight end kissed his wife’s hand. As he climbed up on stage he grinned at Keisha before dropping to his knees and looking up questioningly at Matt. “Get up and fuck my slave’s mouth.” When Jack obeyed Matt’s terse command, Keisha gulped. She managed to stifle a protest when Matt adjusted the position of her upper body and positioned the head of Jack’s cock against her lips. “Open up,” Matt ordered. 42

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When she did, Jack slid his cock down her throat and Matt moved behind her once more. He bent and tongued her clit then inserted a vibrator in her cunt—the vibrator for which he’d casually tossed a remote control out to the crowd. Keisha, from the corner of her eye, saw Coach Zanardi catch it. “Drive her crazy, Coach.” The vibrator sent shards of longing through her body when it started rotating in her cunt on Matt’s command. Matt rimmed her ass with his tongue before straightening. When he did, he moved where she could see his reflection in the mirrored dungeon wall. “I want you to watch.” His beautiful cock leaked creamy lubrication she’d love to taste if her mouth weren’t otherwise occupied. He rolled on a condom then smeared slippery lubricant over it. “I’ve been wanting to fuck your ass ever since I first saw you in contracts class,” he said, his dark eyes glittering as he used his fingers to pack more lube beyond her anal sphincter. “Relax.” How could she while Jack fucked her mouth and the vibrator in her cunt rotated and buzzed slow then fast, driving her insane? She felt Matt’s cock pressing against her anus, easy at first then more insistently until her sphincter relaxed and his cock slid past it. He was too big. It hurt. But it soon began to feel good, too. Full. She’d never felt so full or so taken. Matt moved in her ass, slowly and possessively, while the vibrator’s motion made her cunt clench. Jack fucked her mouth with quiet intensity. When Matt cupped her breasts in his big hands and caressed them, the heat of it all had her struggling for breath. “Come now, baby, I know you want to.” Matt tightened his grip on her and pounded into her as the vibrator kicked up and Jack came faster than she could swallow. Her belly clenched and contractions spread through her body. When Jack withdrew and cupped her head in his calloused hands she moaned with pleasure as waves of her climax coursed through her.

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***** In their bed late that night, Matt held Keisha. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She snuggled against his chest, her soft breathing tickling him. “I’m fine. What about you?” “I’m okay. I’m afraid I’m not cut out to be a Dom, though. As bad as I’ve always wanted to fuck your pretty ass, I worried the whole time that I might hurt you. Thinking about how you probably felt about being displayed on that swing in front of everybody made me feel guilty, too. You sure you’re all right?” Keisha laughed. “I’m okay. You’re right, I’m not comfortable with giving up control so visibly. It’s easier here at home, where it’s just the two of us instead of a roomful of voyeurs.” “You didn’t like it?” “Oh yeah, I liked it. I came, didn’t I?” She raised her head and licked his nipple. “I’m pretty sure getting ass-fucked isn’t gonna be my favorite pastime once I’m back in charge, though. Are you tellin’ me you’re looking forward to that day as much as I am?” “Yeah.” He sometimes missed the weight of his Mistress’ lock on his dick, a constant reminder that she’d be the one to decide if, when and how often she’d set him free. At night he often dreamed about the vows he’d made nearly six years ago. And when he topped Keisha, he always recalled the joy of completely submitting to the will of the woman he loved, the freedom from worry that he’d lose it and damage her. “I’d like for us to renew our vows when it’s time.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “Same rules?” “Well, maybe I’d like to change a few.” Catching her hand, he brought it to his lips. “Not about the submitting part. I still need that, but I’ve pretty much gotten over the need for a lot of physical punishment.” The floggings had been his idea, not hers, and now that he was thirty-two, Matt had finally accepted in his mind that he wasn’t a loose

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cannon, as his dad had been, even though physically he was a dead ringer for the man who’d caused his mother’s death. “I don’t mind that. I’m glad you’ll be willing to forgo the floggings. Remember, I fought against promising to put welts on your hot, hot body back then, too.” Sliding her hand down his body, Keisha found his dick and stroked it. It felt good. A hell of a lot better than the sting of a flogger on his cock and balls. “Keep that up, sweetheart. I love it when you touch me.” She laughed. “It’s been a long time since I locked up this naughty boy. Would you like to keep him this way? After all this time, I think I can trust you not to chase other women if you say you won’t.” Matt planted a hand on Keisha’s butt and pulled her hard against his torso. “Why would I want to chase women when I belong to the best one of them all? I’m your devoted slave, remember?” “Even now while you’re my Master?” “Even now.” Turning on his side, he ran his hand up the silky length of her back. When she wrapped one leg around his torso, his dick slid between her moist, warm thighs. She looked into his eyes. “God baby, I love you. I don’t even mind being your slave, and that’s something I promised myself when I was twenty that I’d never do— never hand over control of my body to any man. I’m game to renegotiate our contract before we make another power switch.” When she raised her lips, he claimed them with a hard, hungry kiss. “May I—” “Don’t ask, just fuck me.” She closed her arms around him then whispered in his ear. “Please, Master.” Flexing his hips, he entered her in one long, deep thrust. “You like this, do you?” “Oh yeah. I love having your cock inside me.”

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He liked being inside her, too. Not just the physical sensation but also the sense of closeness, of belonging—of their commitment to each other no matter who was holding the reins. “My cock loves being inside you, too. Roll on your back and let me fuck you hard.” When she did he followed, propping his upper body on his hands so as not to squash her. Damn, she felt good, especially when her legs came around his waist and held him as though she’d never let him go. As she did so often now, Keisha framed his face between her hands and looked into his eyes as he moved on her slow and easy as though time had no meaning. It didn’t. Not with them. Matt could stay this way forever, loving this woman who’d offered the one thing he’d needed as a young, troubled man—the control she’d given back to him when he’d persuaded her she needed his strength to fight the weight demon that had begun to undermine her health. “Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.” “Hard. Fast. Show me who’s boss and make me like it.” So typical. Submissive or not, Keisha didn’t have slow and easy in her vocabulary. She went into everything like gangbusters, whether it was her career or diet, or sex. It made no difference whether she was Mistress or slave. “Hold on.” Grasping her shoulders to steady her on the bed, he fucked her hard and deep, faster and faster. The way she held on, the pressure of her cunt against his straining dick, had him gasping, trying in vain to control the need to come now, ease the raging lust that drove him to pound into her body. She strained upward, took him even deeper. His balls tightened. He was too close. “Damn it, come now.” “Oh yeah. I’m comin’.” When she tightened her legs around him and clutched his shoulders, he felt her cunt contract around his cock. Her breathy moans mingled with his shout of satisfaction as they came in unison.

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Not Master and slave, nor Mistress and slave. Not tonight. Tonight they were just lovers taking their vanilla pleasure together.

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Chapter Three The following April… “See you in an hour,” Matt told Keisha as he dropped her off at the doctor’s office for a final checkup. He’d stay and wait for her as he usually did, but he had something else on his mind. He needed to put his old hang-ups to rest, for good, because if he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to give her what she wanted most—a family of their own. After he watched her go inside Dr. Stein’s office, he pulled into a parking slot across the courtyard and went to see the psychologist who’d been treating him—make that talking with him—for the past six months. Steeling his nerves against the panic that threatened to overtake him, he strode across the parking lot and into the doctor’s office. Today there would be no talking. The shrink had been pushing this for months now but Matt had balked. He wouldn’t balk anymore. No matter how much he feared the truth, he’d let the doctor hypnotize him. And he’d face whatever it was that had him terrified at the idea of having a kid. So afraid that he’d had a vasectomy as soon as he had the money, right after signing with the Rebels. After he did that he’d see about having the surgery reversed, the way Keisha wanted him to do.

***** He tried to concentrate on the swinging pendulum in the doctor’s hand, but the pendulum was here and now. He was somewhere else. Mind and body separated, his mind traveled back… “You’ll be twelve years old next week, Matthias. Where are you now?” He saw a soot-stained brownstone on a narrow street. A few straggly flowers— petunias his mother had planted in the spring—still survived along the cracked

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walkway to the front door. He hesitated. Something stopped him. Was someone screaming? Not screaming. A pigeon screeched as it dived for the crumbs his neighbor lady put out each morning. He made himself move, took the stairs two at the time, flung open the scarred, black-enameled door and went inside. “I’m going home. I got suspended from school for fighting on the playground.” “All right. You’re in your bedroom now, Matthias. What do you see?” “My bed. Football on the chair. A bookshelf. My new sneakers.” “Think carefully. Who else is in the house?” “Mom.” A door slammed and heavy footsteps grew closer. “Oh, no, Dad’s home.” “Why is your father home? Shouldn’t he be at work?” “They called him from school.” Another door opened. His door. “Dad?” A fist connected with his cheek. “Brat. I’ll teach you to disgrace me.” His jaw hurt so bad he couldn’t talk. He thought it might be broken. Another fist got him. This time in the gut. He doubled over, vomited. “Clean it up or I’ll kill you.” More fists, more curses and threats. His dad had him by the throat, choking the air out of him. “No, Abel. He’s just a boy.” His mother grabbed his father. He scrambled out from under the deluge of fists. “Shut up, bitch.” His father hit her over and over while he watched and screamed. Blood ran out of her nose and mouth. “I want to pummel my father, protect my mother. But I’m too little. Too helpless against him.” “Matthias, what’s happening now?” “I hear sirens in the distance. Now they’re inside. The cops are dragging my father off my mother.” He gasped for air, couldn’t breathe. “Are they taking him away?” 49

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“They’re putting handcuffs on him. He’s fighting them. Oh God, I hear more sirens.” “Your mother. Where is she?” He sank to the floor, took his mom’s limp hand. “On the floor. She’s bleeding. Not moving. The ambulance people are here. They’re lifting her onto a gurney and taking her away.” The doctor gave the signal—a snap of his fingers. “Come back now, Matt. Do you remember everything?” He did. How the fuck could he have buried this nightmare so deep inside him that it had taken twenty years and a hypnotist to drag it out of his brain? “Some of my fears make sense now, Doctor.” “You mean the reasons you’re so afraid of having a child? Or why you’re a sexual submissive?” “Both. Seems to me the two are pretty much tied together.” Now that he remembered why his dad had killed his mother he understood his guilt, his fears. Understanding them, he believed he was halfway toward overcoming them. “I imagine I’m still gonna need a few more sessions—but no more hypnosis. I don’t think I could take revisiting any more of my childhood, at least not that up close and personal. I always remembered my mom dying in the hospital and my dad being sent up for manslaughter, just not exactly the way it came about.” The doctor’s expression was one of sympathy. “Perhaps you should share this new knowledge with your wife. It might help her understand your feelings. How is her weight-loss program going?” Matt grinned. “She’s met her goal. I’ll be going back to being my submissive self as soon as we can gather a few good friends together to witness the renewal of our vows.” “Isn’t four years a pretty short a time to have passed before renewing vows?”

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“We’ve been married just four years, but it’s been more than six since she collared me. We switched places this last year while we tackled her weight loss together. Her dominance and my submission—that’s the vow we’ll be renewing. You don’t understand the BDSM lifestyle, Doc, but it suits both of us just fine.” Matt stood and held out his hand. “I need to go meet Keisha now.” “Good luck. You’ve come a long way. Congratulations,” the doctor said as he walked Matt out of his office.

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Chapter Four As they’d done six years ago, Matt and Keisha sat across from each other, only this time it was at the conference table in Keisha’s office at their house rather than the dinette set in his bachelor digs at a Savannah condominium. Instead of the pizza and beer they’d enjoyed back then, they snacked on a tray of fruits and veggies with assorted dips, with sparkling water to wash it down. “I’m afraid I’m gonna always miss the pizza,” Keisha said, making a face at the carrot stick and dip she was about to put in her mouth. “How about you?” He looked up from her list of demands and grinned. “If it will keep you on the straight and narrow, I’ll gladly eat healthy and supplement my diet with protein drinks whenever I’m feeling starved. Have you had a chance to go through my wish list?” “I’ve looked at them. I’ve got no objections as long as you’re okay with mine.” She noticed he’d called his demands a “wish list” instead of what they were, but she found she didn’t mind. “Do you?” “Not at all, Mistress. I went ahead and drafted a new contract, just in case you’d be okay with what I want.” She liked that Matt was still submissive, but also that he’d gotten over the need to be punished for things he now understood and realized had never been his fault. Slipping reading glasses on, she began to peruse the document Matt had prepared. On Sunday, the sixth of April, six years since the covenant of dominance and submission was entered into between Mistress Keisha Harris and slave matthias rubin, we reaffirm our desire that our lives be intertwined forever as treasured Mistress and beloved slave. Today we celebrate the love that has sustained us in bad times and let us share good times, and we promise we will always treasure our relationship as we have up until now. We promise to support each

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other in our search for sexual, emotional and intellectual fulfillment, always trying to bring out the best in ourselves and each other. To that end, slave promises Mistress his complete obedience in all things sexual and his support, protection and honor in his every action, confirming the vows he made at the time of his collaring. He promises further never to use his superior physical strength against her and grants permission for her to punish him physically and emotionally in any way that may give her pleasure. Finally, slave vows he will take every possible step to enable his Mistress to bear his child. Mistress promises slave her love and protection, and her sexual domination which shall not include unearned physical punishment or unjustified restraint of his sexual performance but shall include any actions which bring pleasure to herself or slave. May our renewed vows add strength to the home we have built together. May it always be a home full of love, and may we continue celebrating the passage of time and life with joy. Because our love has grown in wisdom through sickness and health, may we always give thanks for our blessings and the pleasure of our shared lifestyle. When Keisha looked up at Matt, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks. His smile confirmed the love she’d seen in every line of the document he’d once told her he’d borrowed in part from traditional marriage contracts that were part of Jewish wedding ceremonies. She’d felt his love before, in his submission and in the dominance he’d been forced to assume when he’d thought he might lose her. She’d felt it in his concern that he might hurt her when he took sexual control, and in his gentle care for her when she was ill. She felt it now more than ever, in the simple promise she’d never expected that he’d include. Slave vows to take every possible step to enable his Mistress to bear his child. “Thank you.”

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“You’re welcome. It may not work, you know, and if it does I’ll be a basket case before it happens, but I know you’ll be there telling me it will be okay. That I won’t end up being an abuser like my dad.” “You won’t. Since your recollaring’s set for,” she glanced at the contract, “April sixth, what say we head on to Rebels’ Roost since that’s today.” Matt laughed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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Epilogue Her breath caught in her throat as she stood before Tawny and Jack, Coach Zanardi and Susan, and Sid and Talia. Close friends who’d come to see them renew their commitment to the lifestyle they shared. This time she’d left off the bodysuits that had been her costumes in the dungeon ever since she’d decided to play as a Domme. Her nakedness no longer bothered her because her beloved slave thought her beautiful. She was still a big, statuesque woman—his gorgeous Amazon he called her—but she no longer shrank from curious eyes when she played here with her lover, her Master and now her slave. Because he saw her as desirable, she felt that way and stood proudly for all to see. Her cunt clenched with anticipation when she saw him in the spotlight, beautifully naked head to toe as he’d promised he’d be. His olive skin glowed as if he’d oiled it, tempting her to touch and caress every square inch of the baby-smooth skin that covered all his buff, massive muscles. “Come to me.” The gold barbell in his ampallang piercing sparkled and drew her gaze to his massive erection. As he’d done before, he knelt before her, holding out the leash he’d never put on her during the time they’d switched places. He bent his head, lifted one of her bare feet to his lips and drew each toe into his mouth. It felt good—even better this time than it had before. “Do you want to be my slave, to love, honor and obey me in all things?” He lifted his head and met her gaze, a look of eagerness in his expressive, brown eyes. “I want that above all else, Mistress.” She returned his smile. He was so much more comfortable in his submissive skin now. “Why?”

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“Because I’m a sexual submissive. I want all our friends here to know I’m your loving, obedient slave, that you control my mind and my cock.” He couldn’t have said the words six years ago, but now they seemed to flow easily from his lips. No longer needing to show the witnesses how she had assumed control of his body, she dispensed with the humiliation that she’d insisted upon six years ago. “I accept your submission,” she said, stroking the crown of his freshly shaved head. “This is my collar, to wear whenever we play.” When he leaned toward her she fastened the collar that had been unused for over a year around his thick, corded neck. Instead of inserting the lock in its hasp she set it aside. Their relationship no longer required her to make a show of force—or coercion. “I love you, more than I ever thought I could love anybody.” “And I love you, Mistress. You’ve given me happiness I never thought I deserved.” He handed her the leash and helped her snap it onto the hasp of his unlocked collar. Him being at her feet seemed ludicrous, so she drew him up to his full height and rested her hands on his broad shoulders. “I want you to fuck me, my precious slave, in front of all our friends. Just looking at you has my cunt wet and ready, and I can tell you’re ready, too.” She reached down with one hand and encircled his enthusiastic erection. He lifted her in his arms and took her to the fucking table set up on the center stage. “It will be my pleasure, Mistress mine.” When he stood at the end of the table and sank into her hot, wet cunt, she realized what her heart had been telling her for years, in many subtle ways. As much as he was her sex slave, she was his—his Mistress and his slave. The End

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About the Author Ann Jacobs is a sucker for lusty Alpha heroes and happy endings, which makes Ellora’s Cave an ideal publisher for her work. Romantica®, to her, is the perfect combination of sex, sensuality, deep emotional involvement and lifelong commitment— the elusive fantasy women often dream about but seldom achieve. First published in 1996, Jacobs has sold over forty books and novellas, some of which have earned awards including the Passionate Plume (best novella, 2006), the Desert Rose (best hot and spicy romance, 2004) and More Than Magic (best erotic romance, 2004). She has been a double finalist in separate categories of the EPPIES and From the Heart RWA Chapter’s contest. Three of her books have been translated and sold in several European countries. A CPA and former hospital financial manager, Jacobs now writes full-time, with the help of Mr. Blue, the family cat who sometimes likes to perch on the back of her desk chair and lend his sage advice. He sometimes even contributes a few random letters when he decides he wants to try out the keyboard. She loves to hear from readers, and to put faces with names at signings and conventions.

Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at [email protected].

Also by Ann Jacobs A Gift of Gold A Mutual Favor Another Love Awakenings Black Gold: Dallas Heat Black Gold: Entrapped Black Gold: Firestorm Black Gold: Forever Enslaved Black Gold: Love Slave Club Rio Brava 1: Loving Control Club Rio Brava 2: Switching Control Club Rio Brava 3: Unexpected Control Club Rio Brava 4: Learning Control Colors of Love Colors of Magic Commitment D’Argent Honor 1: Vampire Justice D’Argent Honor 2: Eternally His D’Argent Honor 3: Eternal Surrender D’Argent Honor 4: Eternal Victory D’Argent Honor: Eternal Triangle Dark Side of the Moon

Gates of Hell Gridiron Lovers 1: Naked Bootleg Gridiron Lovers 2: Forward Pass Gridiron Lovers 3: Hot in the Clutch Gridiron Lovers 4: Coach Me Gridiron Lovers: Hot for the Reunion Haunted He Calls Her Jasmine Heart of the West 1: Roped Heart of the West 2: Hitched Heart of the West 3: Lassoed Her Very Special Robot Illusions Lawyers in Love: Bittersweet Homecoming Lawyers in Love: Eye of the Storm Lawyers in Love: Gettin’ It On Lawyers in Love: In His Own Defense Lawyers in Love: Mastered Necessary Roughness 1: Sackmaster Necessary Roughness 2: End Run Necessary Roughness 3: Best Reception Out of Bounds Pleasure Partners 1: His Pleasure Mistress Pleasure Partners 2: Pleasure Slave Pleasure Partners 3: Enslaving the Master

Pleasure Partners 4: Imperfect Partners Pleasure Partners 5: Perfect Master Tip of the Iceberg Topaz Dream Wrong Place, Wrong Time? Zayed’s Gift

Print books by Ann Jacobs A Mutual Favor A Shining Future Another Love Bound by Love Controlled by Love Dallas Heat Dark Fantasies anthology Enchained anthology Eternally His Firestorm Forbidden Fantasies anthology Full Circle Haunted Heart of the West Home Field Advantage

Lords of Pleasure Men in Motion Out of Bounds Sandstorms Sex, Love and a Bit of Magic anthology The Defenders The Prosecutors

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com